Stay
by MissTinfoilHat
Summary: Dazai is intentionally captured and tortured on a mission from an important client of the Port Mafia. (Better summary will be added once I come up with one).
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I think I'll do it in three parts instead. I have the whole story mapped out- it just needs some meat on its bones.**

**This was born from my writer's block. I've been struggling for _weeks _with several of my ongoing fictions, and I just needed to get away from them a little, and do something else to get my spirit back up!**

**Oh, and it's also a small nod sent to Soukoku week!**

* * *

Ragged breathing and the sickening smacks from leather hitting flesh was all that could be heard in the cold cellar.

How long had he been there? A week? Two? Dazai really didn't know. There were no windows down there, so he didn't have any sense of night and day. No concept of time what so ever.

But, the masked men that came and went into his small cell, had been there 37 times. He usually had about three or four hours of rest between sessions, which would make it about 10 to 14 days.

Or, something like that. His head wasn't working properly right now. It only hurt. A slow, deep pain, pounding all the way from his neck and shoulders to the top of his skull.

There had been several extended periods of time where the lights had faded out completely, and he had fallen unconscious- which, just made the whole 'trying to keep track of time' project impossible.

His shoulders ached _so much _too_. _He'd been shifted around a couple of times, depending on what kind of torture these fuckers wanted to inflict on him next. Some days, he would be cuffed to the wall instead. Other days, it was the chair. The most painful one he could recall, was when they strapped him to the table. He almost broke that day.

But right now _(luckily, considering the options?)_, he was once again handcuffed to the chains hanging from the ceiling.

His legs had already given out. If he could stand, some of the pressure from his sore shoulder joints would have been released, but the contact between his brain and the rest of his body had been severed long ago.

A swishing-noise rang through the air. Another merciless blow from the heavy whip almost made him cry out in pain when the spike on the tip caught on _something (his rib fuck it hurts hurts so much stay awake gotta stay... awake) _and was forcefully ripped out again.

Warm liquid streamed from the open wound on his back, almost welcoming in contrast to his freezing body. He was left shaking in the aftershock of the blow, clenching his teeth while his vision blurred and got clouded with black spots.

_Absolutely helpless. What is taking Mori so long?  
_  
Somebody said something inaudible behind him. One of his captors was probably asking him another stupid question that he wasn't planning on answering.

A smirk spread on his battered face, scarred, cracked lips stinging from the sensation when he made a faint connection between the muffled sound of the voice and a children's cartoon he had seen Elise watch once.

_Something about a dog and a yellow bird, and small potato-nosed kids._

Another sound. It was unfamiliar down here, while still... kind of recognizable.

He realized he was laughing. Hoarse, rough chuckles tore painfully through his body, turning into harsh coughs, making his stomach spasm.

And then there was that ridiculous voice again. He sounded irritated this time, which only made Dazai laugh harder. Even if he knew he shouldn't, and wanted to stop _(shut the hell up you stupid idiot- what the hell are you doing?!). _He just _couldn't._  
_  
This was it. He had finally lost his mind._

At that moment, time seemed to stop (which only made him chortle even _harder _because time didn't go by _at all _down here_ anyway_), and a shadow engulfed by a red radiance burst through the wooden door, pieces scattered all over before stopping mid-air.

The glowing apparition pushed into Dazai's torturer with intense speed and force, leaving the large man with the back of his head splattered across the stone wall. The wooden chips from the door finally shot towards the gaping opening where the door once stood, penetrating the body of the lone guard left outside, making him thump limply to the ground.

Chuuya deactivated his ability and shot a quick glance towards the hole, making sure that there wasn't anyone else behind them. He had his hands in his pockets- his own subtle way of showing superiority. _I can crush you without getting dirt under my fingernails._

He scowled towards his partner, surprised and confused by the hoarse, manic laughter coming from the seemingly half-beaten-to-death man. Chuuya stepped around the trembling form dangling from the ceiling to asses the situation.

«Hey, Mackerell,» he tried hesitantly, peering up at the taller man.

Dazai's face was distorted into a strange grimace while his head lolled from side to side. The laughter had faded as his voice finally gave out, leaving him to wheeze staccato hiccups of manic _(or terrified) _giggles.

«Dazai?» he asked more pressingly, waving his hand in front of his face. No contact.

«Hey, come on. Snap out of it,» he tried again, snapping his fingers to try and get his attention, still not getting any response what so ever.

This was getting frustrating. In one last attempt, he stretched his arm out to touch Dazai, hoping that bodily contact would get him out of this strange mania. The gloved hand hadn't more than grazed Dazai's bloody shirt when Dazai flinched violently, crying out with a breathless gasp- desperately trying to move his body away from the small mafioso.

«Calm_ down,_» Chuuya sneered, winching at how Dazai's shoulders were being forced into an unnatural position.

Wide-eyed, Dazai stared back at him, panting breathlessly like a cornered, injured animal before recognition seemed to sink in.

«S-Slug?» he whispered, disbelieving. _He's finally here. Chuuya is here. They came back for me. It's finally over._

Chuuya rolled his eyes, exaggerating the movement while biting his lower lip unhappily.

«Yeah,» he growled and looked away. «The others went back outside after clearing the building... This place _stinks,_» he added as an afterthought. The group of highly skilled hitmen they were after was disguised as a fish factory. Apparently the smell of fish was a good way to overpower that of rotting bodies.

Chuuya intentionally neglected to mention anything about his fury when their boss had complained about the odor when first entering the building. Because, when he sent Dazai on this mission, he assured him that it was only supposed to take a couple of days.

Dazai had been a prisoner there for_ sixteen days_ now.

_Sixteen days _as an "undercover hostage" (a plan only Mori could concoct), to gather information on this group. Dazai had let himself get caught under a false attack, pretending to be from the rivaling group that had hired them to do this piece of shit job.  
_  
_What an absolute fucking mess. Chuuya hoped that Dazai at least had gathered enough information for their clients to be satisfied. Knowing him, he probably had enough infomation during the first couple of hours.

«Let's get going. This place gives me the creeps,» Chuuya said impatiently, internally taking a quick assessment of Dazai's most prominent injuries. It was hard to tell. It looked like he had bathed in blood.

His hair was crusty, probably from a head wound. One or both of his shoulders had probably been dislocated. A couple of broken ribs were likely from the strain in his breath and speech, and Chuuya didn't even want to _think_ about how many stitches he would need. And that was only on the surface.

«Do you need any help?» he asked, dumbly. Dazai shot him a dead-panned look.

«What does it look like, Chucky?» he croaked, his voice drained from all power.

«Hey, _fuck you _toilet roll!» Chuuya snapped back and clenched his fists tightly. «I risked my life to get you outta here!»

«Took you long enough!»

Chuuya seethed. If it was because of Dazai's ungratefulness, or if it was his own guilt, he didn't know, wouldn't care. Finally, he crossed his arms defiantly and pointed his nose to the sky.

«_Fine, _be like that, asshole. You can get out of those shackles yourself and take a cab home.» He turned his back on the Mafia executive and started to walk with determined steps out of the room.

_Goddamn bandage-wasting device...  
_

«Chu... Pls...»

Chuuya stopped, holding his breath and listened carefully. He wasn't sure if he had actually heard what he thought he had.

«Please,» Dazai repeated in a weak voice as fragile as porcelain, begging him. He stopped abruptly and looked in surprise back inside the room.

Dazai still hung from the roof, wrists torn from the tight grip the sharp metal had around those painfully skinny arms. His hands were paler than usual, almost tinted blue from the lack of blood circulation.

Chuuya had to do a double-take. On his right hand, Dazai was missing two fingers.

_Those bastards had cut off his fucking fingers._

Dazai was saying something, but it was too quiet for him to hear. Chuuya carefully stepped closer.

«You have to speak up, I can't hear you.»

«I- I said _please, _don't leave me.»

The short red-head stood, frozen in shock. Was Dazai _begging?_

«Please, please don't leave...» Dazai said again, pleadingly.

«I- I'm not,» Chuuya answered slowly.

«Stay.» Dazai's voice was _so_ heartbreakingly small.

'_What have they done to you?_'

«I'm not going anywhere without you.» Chuuya swallowed tightly. This was worse than he thought. Maybe he should get Mori before he moved him, but then...  
_  
Then he would have to leave._


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry," Chuuya said softly as he concentrated his energy on the chains. There was no use trying to break off the cuffs, considering Dazai's ability. As long as his wrists touched the iron, Chuuya's own ability would be nullified. He wouldn't be able to put in enough strength to break them without his powers.

For a while he had stood there, waiting dumbly for Dazai to get out of them himself, until he realized that he probably couldn't if his shoulders truly were dislocated. He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness, and finally positioned himself to help him out.

The shackles shattered between his hands and Dazai slumped into a heap on the floor. He was unmoving, except for the quiet trembling of broken limbs and the ragged breathing from tired lungs.

"Come on." Chuuya crouched beside him and pulled Dazai's lean body to his feet. "Can you walk?"

Dazai nodded his head lightly, but still leaned heavily on his partner. Chuuya sighed and wrapped an arm around Dazai's waist, propping him up and steadying him out of the room.

It didn't take many steps before Dazai's legs gave out, pain and fatigue getting the best of him. His short partner quickly caught him. Instead of trying to coax him back to his feet, he arranged the listless body over his shoulder in a way he hoped wouldn't hurt him too much, and hurried his way out of there.

* * *

Chuuya waited restlessly in his suite at the Port Mafia HQ. He really should sleep. It was way past three in the morning and he had a full day of paperwork and meetings the next day.

_Well, he guessed it was today._

He had tried to sleep. For several hours, until he decided to just give up. Mori had assured him that he would make someone tell him what was going on with the bandage-wasting, suicidal maniac when they were finished treating him, but he had his doubts that they actually would.

So, instead, he was on his third glass of wine, hoping the heaviness of the red liquid would help take his mind off things and finally, hopefully, be able to get a couple of hours shut-eye before he had to head to the offices.

It hadn't helped him yet. It seemed like it was actually getting worse. His mind raced at a million miles per hour, feeling guilty, angry and sad. Why the hell didn't they come for Dazai sooner? Mori _knew _that Dazai was more than capable of getting all the information they needed within a couple of hours. Especially since he knew they would be coming to get him soon, and Dazai wouldn't want to prolong a mission that inquired him to get hurt any longer than he needed.

He had probably gone all out right from the get-go, agitating and infuriating their targets like only Dazai could, making them carelessly spill out information before they even knew what they were saying. The downside to that was that they would become increasingly aggressive and more violent towards him as the days _(weeks)_ past.

And they? They left him there to endure the aftermath of that, for _sixteen _days.

Also, knowing Mori, no matter how severe Dazai's injuries turned out to be, their boss would eventually force him back onto the field within a week, not giving his injuries nearly enough time to heal and adding another layer of permanent bandages to his body.

And Dazai, of course, was too brainwashed to refuse.

* * *

In the Port Mafia's infirmary, Dazai was finally wheeled into a recovery room after a lengthy operation. Tendons, ligaments, and labrums needed to be surgically fixed after the dislocation of his shoulders, as well as his ribcage that needed to be screwed and glued back together because of several severely broken ribs. They had also performed a long-needed knee replacement on his left leg, from years of poorly healed injuries. As of now, he was heavily sedated and still under the anesthesia.

Mori lingered in the doorway. It was only when his executives were in need of emergency surgery that he still scrubbed in nowadays. Well, actually, it was mainly when Dazai needed it. He had started the molding of that boy, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else finish it.

The possessiveness he felt towards the kid almost scared him sometimes.

Watching the young man in his drug-induced sleep, he reminisced about the day he discovered him, in an odd blend of pride and bitterness.

_They had been on a mission before he became the boss of the Port Mafia. Even before he became the organization's head physician. The whole operation had been absolute chaos of mixed messages and miscommunication._

_At the time, they had been a considerably smaller group and had a rivaling opponent who went under the name The Harbour Twelve. They were a newer gang who tried to steal their clients and investors._

_They had been a pain in their back for six months when the current leader had enough and decided to go all-in and get rid of them but, as it turned out, they were all ability users, and proved extremely difficult to exterminate when gathered in one spot._

_As luck would have it, one of the misunderstandings (flaws, errors, incompetence) was that Mori had been sent all by himself to assassinate two of the Harbour Twelves. A young married couple in a one-bedroom apartment, in one of the buildings close to the docks. He had executed the job effortlessly, leaving a complete bloodbath in the living room as a clear warning to the rest of the group- who now had to rename themselves the Harbour Ten._

_What he didn't know, was that he had a spectator._

"Good job today, boss," one of the male surgical nurses that assisted in the operation offered, as he walked past the tired head of the organization in the hallway. Mori turned with a strained smile, nodding towards the young man and telling him to have a good night.

He finally closed the door to Dazai's room quietly and headed for his penthouse apartment at the top of what was now one of Yokohama's tallest buildings. Tomorrow was going to be a long day of meetings, and terribly pointed questions were sure to be asked about the time it took them to rescue their youngest executive.

Mori would probably make up some excuse about how their client was very important, and how they needed to make it look like a believable hostage situation to make sure that their scheme wasn't found out. Then, he would fabricate some statistics that most hostage situations lasted for three to four weeks and that they had already taken a risk to be on the shorter side of that.

_While truth was that he just needed Dazai to be under control. Dazai was asking too many questions lately, and Mori was worried that the boy was starting to consider another way of life. Rambling about daylight and orphans- Mori couldn't fathom where he got these ideas from. Maybe he was starting to remember things... He couldn't have that. He needed him to understand that _he, _and he alone, was the only one who truly cared about him._

_Life in the light... _

_That wasn't the plans he had for the young boy he had orphaned that day, seven years ago._

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

In the early morning hours, Dazai finally woke up. Sluggish eyes fluttered open in the dark room.

He couldn't see a thing, couldn't move an inch.

Pain immediately registered in his brain, so much so, that he couldn't pinpoint just where it was coming from. A staggered inhale was all he could muster, as his chest cramped up when he tried to make a sound.

Then, he remembered the events of the last weeks. His eyes shut up, wide open with a desperation he couldn't remember ever feeling and he knew that he needed to get out of there- _now_. He quickly realized that he wasn't currently chained to anything and he had the opportunity to _escape._

Holding his breath, he first tried to move his arms. Already, that seemed to be a problem. He couldn't budge his arms at all, realizing that they were somehow secured tightly onto his body. Also, his right hand was heavily bandaged and hurt _a lot. _At least his right leg felt okay, with only a small stinging from cuts and bruises- which left him _something _to work with. The left leg was a different story. He couldn't bend the knee, and when he tried to throw it over the edge of the bed, the pain seared through his body, making his eyesight flutter with black spots and his mind dizzy.

Something yanked off one of his fingertips at the motion, and a strange beeping rang through the room. Some sort of alarm, probably. _He needed to move, now._

In an enormous amount of hurt, he threw himself off whatever he was lying on, exhaling a violent heave of breath as his battered body hit the floor. A twinge of hurt was felt in the crease of his elbow, something snapped out if it, leaving a trail of warm blood trickling down his arm. He felt paralyzed in agony, but he braced himself and started to crawl over the cold tiled floor, leaving a small trail of crimson red behind him.

Footsteps were approaching the room rapidly and he braced himself for the upcoming torture from his captors. _He would fail- his one opportunity of escape and he had failed!_

The door shut open. Dazai closed his eyes tightly and mentally and physically prepared himself for the kicks and hits that were bound to rain upon him. Except...

"Dazai-san, are you okay?"

_That didn't sound like the captors? It somehow sounded pleasantly familiar. _

_'What the hell is going on?' _Dazai thought. _'Am I really this broken?' _The blurred picture started to clear, but he didn't dare believe it.

Being committed to Mori's infirmary was something he _really _didn't want to be, but at this point, he considered that maybe... _just maybe,_ he was actually longing for the rough hands of his mentor and superior.

He had caught himself hallucinating several times while in captivity, or plainly disassociating, but he would wake up every time, to the same cold cellar, sitting, hanging, lying or just simply sprawled out on the floor._  
_

Soft hands, gently stroked through his hair_,_ letting delicate fingers brush through tangled straws while offering comforting words. His body still tensed, _twitched_ by the touch, but he couldn't help but lean into it._  
_

"You've been through a lot, poor thing," the voice spoke, and Dazai _faintly_ remembered being rescued.

_While being imprisoned, Dazai hallucinated that quite a bit. Getting rescued, being somewhere else... dying..._

"I'll call for Mori-sama," the voice said, disappearing back into oblivion, the touch ceasing and left him there, scattered and unsure- not knowing what was real or not.

Splayed out on the floor like that, his delirium seemed to become reality.

_Of course, he was still in the cellar. They had never come to rescue him. Chuuya had never been there and Mori was probably just happy to be rid of him. This floor was where he was going to die, slowly and painfully. Like the dog he was..._

_...that was all he deserved._

* * *

Mori got a phone call that Dazai was awake and making trouble at the infirmary. He had been in a pill-induced sleep for hours and felt his body weary and achy as he got up, forcing himself to _focus _and _stay awake. _

Lazily, he slumped out of bed and slugged into the shower, where he took his time cleaning himself and shaving before he summoned Elise and left his suite and headed for the infirmary.

Once there, the solemn environment of nighttime at a hospital surrounded him, made it even harder to keep himself alert, even with Elise repeatedly tugging at his white doctor's coat and asking him questions about any and everything.

A young, pretty nurse called Mary Shelly met him in the hallway in front of Dazai's room. Her white apron was stained in droplets of red, and her nicely picked eyebrows were knitted together in worry.

"I'm sorry for waking you, Mori-sama, but Dazai-san is not doing well. He doesn't seem to believe that he's here, and he's constantly trying to escape," she exclaimed apologetically, folding her hands in front of her skirt and lowering her head. "He's just hurting himself further," she added silently after a short pause.

"It's okay, Mary-chan, I'm going to see to him," he assured her pleasantly, stifling a yawn as he passed her and opened the door to the room Dazai was staying in.

The sight he met, was surprising, even to him. The floor was covered in the same red pattern as Mary Shelley's skirt, and Dazai's body was strapped to the bed. He recognized one of the bags at the IV-stand as sedatives, but the drugs he had prescribed didn't seem to be as strong as they clearly had needed for him.

Dazai laid stiff as a rod on the bed, exhaustingly trying to wiggle out of his bindings to no avail.

Mori cringed at the sight and quickly stepped over to the bed.

"Dazai-kun," he exclaimed sternly, gaining the young man's attention instantly. Disbelieving eyes peered up at him, limbs hesitating before they seemed to slack.

"Are... are you really here?" Dazai asked weakly, voice strained with forced calmness. He watched warily as Mori closed the distance between himself and the bed, Elise peeking out behind his back and giving Dazai an innocent giggle before disappearing back behind Mori.

Mori stretched out his arm and touched Dazai's shoulder carefully.

"Now, do you believe you're here?" he asked, letting go of the shoulder and settling back to his stance, a few feet from the bed.

Dazai only stared, frightened eyes looking owlishly at him, the skepticism evident in his expression.

"H-how can I know for sure?" he finally stuttered out, closing his eyes and clenching them tightly shut, before opening them again, blinking up at Mori.

"I don't know, kid," Mori sighed tiredly, stroking his own bangs away from his face. "All I know is that you caused a ruckus, and I was called back here. So you better not waste my time."

Dazai didn't actually know what he meant by that, but somehow, he felt comforted and slightly more convinced. The illusions usually felt way to sunny for them to be the reality. His existence wasn't as bright as that- this seemed more fitting.

"Chuuya," slipped out of his lips before he even realized it.

"What?" Mori replied, leaning in closer. Dazai's voice was low and raspy from disuse.

"I need Chuuya," he repeated, finally convincing himself that he could somehow reassure himself that all of this was real, and not just some fever-dream or wishful thinking, if he could see his partner. His rescuer.

His _friend._

* * *

Chuuya startled awake by his phone ringing. Confusedly, he looked at his surroundings, realizing that he had fallen asleep on his couch, before wiping at his eyes and finally checking the display on his phone.

As soon as he saw that it was Mori calling him, he snapped back to yesterday's events, remembering why he had a hard time sleeping in the first place. He accepted the call quickly and pushed the phone to his ear.

"Boss," he greeted with forced ease to his voice, cringing at its cracking from the few hours of uneasy sleep. He listened intently to what Mori was telling him.

"I'll be there in five minutes," he promised and ended the phone call.

Without even a quick glance in the mirror, he was out the door and heading for Dazai.

* * *

**So, I still haven't decided if this is going to be romantic or friendship double black. Any suggestions? I feel like this could go either way, and I'm actually okay with doing whatever. I always like the challenge of writing an emotion-filled relationship between two people as just friends, but at the same time, that's mostly what I write between these two, with one exception in 'Sexchuuyal frustration", which is mostly just for comedic effect. So, I dunno. Please share your thoughts!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Chuuya made it to the headquarters painstakingly slowly, exhausted and sleep-deprived with heavy, discolored bags under his eyes.

His usually impeccably groomed appearance had been down prioritized that morning in favor of getting out of the door quickly. Even the ridiculously expensive Oxfords he wore couldn't disguise the weariness of his steps as he made his way through the hallways, ignoring the stares and chatter from his coworkers _(that apparently had nothing better to do- he might just delegate some paperwork if they had a slow morning) _and determinedly made his way to the infirmary.

On his way through the impossibly long corridor, he rehearsed what he wanted to say to Mori once he found him. The thoughts that had haunted him all night, about how they had _failed _Dazai, _betrayed _his trust and needed to give him the time to _fully _heal this time, before throwing him back onto the field.

Because if they didn't, Chuuya wasn't sure if he would ever truly heal at all, and not just because of the physical injuries.

Dazai already had one foot out the door... in more ways than one. If he would suffer permanent damage because of this _(which he would- but two missing fingers wouldn't cripple him the way Chuuya feared the shattered trust in them would), _he might not have any motivation left to hang on to life at all.

Because what the entire Port Mafia, him included, failed to recognize time and time again, was that Dazai was _truly _suicidal. It wasn't just a gimmick, a joke or a cry for attention. Chuuya had seen enough at this point to know that the man had a sincere death wish.

If Dazai was deemed to live the rest of his life in agonizing pain, and with distrust in those who were supposed to be his allies, Chuuya knew that the rest of his partner's life would be a short one.

Chuuya halted in front of the heavy wooden door that would lead him into the despair of the antiseptic walls of the Port Mafia medical clinic. Looking at his wristwatch, he noted that it had only been twenty minutes since Mori called him.

Suddenly, a chill went down his spine. Why the hell had Mori called him, really? The only answer he could think of was that Mori had been at the infirmary since they had brought Dazai in, or that something had happened during the night.

...was there an actual reason that he hadn't heard anything until early this morning, besides that his superior was an asshole?

Chuuya uttered a couple of inaudible swears before turning the door handle and started stomping his way through another lengthy corridor. All the while, he couldn't get the thought of Dazai maybe already being as good as dead out of his mind.

_Dazai had lost __**so much blood, **__which should have been __**so **__obvious after being tortured for sixteen days. They should have been there sooner- he should have risked being punished for insubordination and acted even if he hadn't gotten the order yet, should have trusted his gut, should have rescued Dazai on his own._

_...why did it have to be Dazai? _

Both of them were irreplaceable for the Port Mafia. Double Black was notorious for a reason. If they lost Dazai... then...

_...then there was only Chuuya._

Singulair black just didn't have the same ring to it.

Chuuya suddenly realized how dependent he had grown on that bandage wasting freak throughout the years. It wasn't like he had started to enjoy Dazai's company or anything _(ridiculous)_... It wasn't that he thought of him as... as a _friend (that's just stupid) _or... some sort of highly dysfunctional _family. _

_...so stupid._

_No,_ Chuuya told himself. It was just that, without him, Chuuya was nothing but a suicide weapon of mass destruction. Like a grenade or a bomb, constructed to destroy everything around it and be used only _once. _

The end of Dazai would subsequently mean the _(possibly very rapid) _end of Chuuya.

...and, he wasn't ready for that.

And that was why Dazai couldn't die. The _one and only _reason.

"Chuuya-kun," a sickly pleasant voice called out from a room he had already passed and he turned rapidly at his heels and looked towards where the stomach-churning sound came from.

"Mori-sama, good morning," Chuuya greeted in forced calmness, all of the pointed questions and accusations he prepared completely forgotten and started walking towards him.

"Ma, not really. Dazai-kun is being a real handful," Mori yawned drowsily, stretching his arms over his head.

_'That means he's okay, right?' _Chuuya wanted to say.

"Nothing unusual with that," he shrugged instead, straining himself to convey himself as cool and collected. "Why did you ask me to come down?"

The doctor looked confused for a moment before he shook his head in recognition.

"Ah, yes. He asked for you," he explained as he started walking towards the room where Chuuya figured his partner was laid up.

"So, what's your assessment?" the short redhead asked casually, hoping his worry wouldn't bleed through his words.

"He'll recover," the raven-haired physician answered in a blazè kind of way.

That didn't tell Chuuya what he wanted to know. Mori's concept of recovery was not the same as his own. He had wheeled the useless form of his partner around in a wheelchair on missions more than once. Personally, Chuuya had the sense to refuse to be sent out on a mission before he felt ready when he was in recovery himself (and any _normal _doctor would probably argue that it was still too early), but Dazai didn't have that same threshold.

_Chuuya knew that Dazai had __**something **__on Mori, but he wondered what Mori possibly could have on Dazai to make him obey him like a tangled puppet._

If Mori said so, that was what Dazai would do, and his arguments when disagreeing was half-hearted at most.

"Why did you ask me to come?" Chuuya asked and was surprised when Mori let out a weary sigh and stopped.

"Because he asked about you," the older man simply said, but the arm scratching the back of his head reviled something uncertain in his demeanor.

"He did?" Chuuya asked.

"Look, it's probably just the medications, but he seems a bit disoriented at the moment. He doesn't believe that he's actually rescued, and told me that he wanted to see you."

That was certainly strange. Chuuya couldn't possibly come up with a good reason of why Dazai would want to see him of all people, in such a vulnerable state. Usually, the slender man would only fight him off when he tried to treat his injuries. It also lit just a _small _ignition of hope in him, remembering all the times Dazai would whine and be overly dramatic when he wasn't hurt _that bad. _

...but that wouldn't be the case this time. Chuuya had been there, seen him. The abuse he'd been through went past that of a broken arm or leg.

Chuuya had hardly realized that they had started walking again before they came to a stop behind a closed door with a steady beeping coming from behind it.

"Do your worst," Mori smiled jokingly and opened the door for the short mafioso, who hesitantly stepped inside.

The dark room was cold and uninviting, and it didn't help that streaks of dried blood were scattered across the floor, making a trail from the door to the bed. Chuuya swallowed sharply, and he had to lean forward to look behind the several stands with medical equipment to see Dazai. Finally seeing the full aftermath of the horrendous torture, he almost choked on his own breath.

Dazai's eye was bandaged as usual, while the other had a large dark purple, almost black, bruise, reaching from his forehead and down his cheek. It bled into a dark patch over the bridge of his nose that had been band-aided, probably due to a fracture. Both his arms were bound close to his chest in a double-armed sling and his left leg was raised by a pillow, dressed in a hard cast. The tubes and wires sticking out from everywhere made Chuuya nauseous, but what really alarmed him, was that despite all this, they had felt the need to _strap him down _to the bed.

What could Dazai _possibly do in this state? _

"Mackrell?" Chuuya asked tryingly, still unable to _really _enter the room.

Dazai stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes.

"Hey, shitty-Dazai," Chuuya called again, slowly stepping closer to the bed.

The man in the bed murmured something inaudible and shifted a little. A soft whine left him as he realized that his movement was limited. It went eerily silent for a moment and Chuuya nearly relaxed, but within seconds, Dazai's one visible eye shot open, as wide as it possibly could considering the heavy swelling to it, and the fragile body started thrashing around, desperately fighting the restraints.

Dazai cried out in distress, but Chuuya couldn't comprehend the febrile babbling, except for a few words that included "no" and "please" repeatedly.

"Dazai!" Chuuya gnarled and stepped closer to the bed, but Dazai didn't look at him. He was somewhere completely different, somewhere far, far away and even more hellish than their own sorry existence.

"Hey," Chuuya tried again, seating himself at the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into the raised leg, and tried to grab his partner's attention.

The tightly bound leather straps made creaking noises as Dazai tried to throw himself back off the bed, and it churned painfully in Chuuya's chest. His friendlooked like a cornered animal. An injured, bound and defenseless animal that was currently fighting its death-match, so desperate and scared, and Chuuya couldn't help but think that this was what Dazai was hiding beneath the layers upon layers of bandages.

A lifetime of abuse. A lifetime of being violated and mistreated with no comprehension of how to handle it. No one ever taught him, so he numbed himself. Hid behind that goofy mask that would only slip moments at the time. And god only knows what was _truly _hidden beneath the bandages that were so bad that the medical personnel in their infirmary would leave them on whenever he was in there, no matter if he'd been lucid when he was brought in or not.

Carefully, Chuuya slid his leather gloves off and placed a hand gently on each of Dazai's shoulders. He wanted to keep him still, but he knew that if he pressed down on those newly operated shoulders, it would hurt Dazai immensely and only make the situation worse.

Admittedly, he had no idea what he was doing, but he kept his arms in place and waited patiently while talking in a soft voice.

"Mackrell, it's me. It's Chuuya... I hope you have a damn good reason to wake me up this early in the morning."

Mid-trash, Dazai froze. It seemed like he held his breath, listening for something before his eye slowly squinted in Chuuya's direction.

"Slug? You came," he croaked, almost disbelieving.

"Well, yeah," Chuuya answered.

"I thought you left me," Dazai continued, clearly still not entirely lucid.

This statement made Chuuya cringe because of course, he thought they had abandoned him. Why wouldn't he? They left him there for two and a half weeks, much longer than they had said before leaving for the mission. They had only enforced Dazai's reluctance to trust people- something that Chuuya and Dazai had worked on for a long time to become the feared duo they were known as. And now, it was just shattered... possibly beyond repair.

Chuuya wanted to try and explain, make excuses and assure him that he would never let something like that happen to him again. But he couldn't do that... because that would quite possibly be yet another lie.

"I'm sorry," Chuuya said instead. "I am so, _so _sorry."

Dazai's eyes were closed again, but he let out a small breath- almost like a chuckle, and the edges of his mouth morphed into a weak smile.

"...'s okay. Chuuya is here now," he slurred, his voice almost gone.

Chuuya got off the bed and pulled one of the chairs left out for visitors closer and sat down. He leaned over towards Dazai, wishing he could grab his partner's hand in silent comfort. Instead, he rested his palm on Dazai's arm, where he had held him down just a few moments ago.

"Yeah, I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter warnings: suicide attempt, graphic descriptions of violence.**

**I was going to post this sooner but my cat laid down on my keyboard mid-inspiration and ruined my flow.**

**Threw off my groove.**

* * *

In the next couple of weeks, Dazai had to stay at the infirmary. His mood changed rapidly, as well as his grasp on reality. In one moment, he would be his old blazè self, stupidly immature and downright childish, making hell for the nurses and doctors who tried to treat him while whining loudly about being cooped up in there. In the next moment, he would be _there _but not all the way. He would be at hight alert, startling at every movement and sound, while still responding to people who were there like _them _and not his captors.

Then, there were the _really_ bad days. The really horribly disastrous days in which the medical's was forced to strap him down again, and he would in hysterics and a major threat to himself, or completely apathetic- blank, gone. As good as dead while still having a beating pulse.

His health was improving slowly. A bit slower than it should be. Mori said it was because of all his fighting. Wounds would reopen and catch infections, as well as his bearly healed bones would crack under the exertion. He was _too _fragile to be in that much disarray, so eventually, Mori decided they had no other choice but to put him in a heavily sedated state.

People would stop by, mostly Chuuya, but he faintly remembered Kouyou and Akutagawa too. And obviously, Mori came by- talking to him as if he wasn't awake. Only his body was asleep really and felt too heavy to move, but the voices speaking to _(over) _him sounded muffled as if echoing through water. He was barely able to decipher who was talking. Kouyou's menacing while strangely comforting voice and the hoarse harks of his trainee breached the surface of his consciousness like the buzzing of a fly. Unable to stay awake for more than short periods of time, he let himself drift off to sleep, canceling their ramblings and headed Into the realms of his own fractured mind.

It was like being trapped in never-ending sleep paralysis. Except for when he dreadfully realized that he_ couldn't_ escape the nightmares, and the paralysis was real- he couldn't move.

* * *

"...zai...un?"

_ What's happening? _

"...ake up."

_ I've been trying for weeks, but you won't let me. _

"...ome on, just open your eyes."

_ ...wait, I can move. _

Dazai heaved himself up violently to a sitting position and out of his stunned nightmarish state, immediately regretting the spontaneous reaction. His arms were now freed from the slings and grabbed desperately for purchase, only resulting in knocking over a trey on his bedstand and yanking painfully at the IV line, making drops of blood paint the bandage covering the cannula. Immediately, the pain of his severed fingers shot into his consciousness like a firecracker.

Dazai flinched, retracting his arms and cradling it close to his body, while all the sensations of his battered body registered at once, and he was left stunned in a slight state of shock.

Standing back watching, Mori had crossed his arms and looked on in faint amusement. A smirk tugged at his lips as he waited for his subordinate to calm down. Dazai panted raggedly while looking wide-eyed around the room.

"Am… am I really here?" he asked quietly, winching as Mori stepped over and helped him lean back on the bed.

"Where else would you be?" Mori answered lighthearted, mindlessly checking the IV line.

"I- I don't know. I haven't really been anywhere the last couple of weeks," Dazai murmured in a garbled tone. "Just somewhere… in between."

Mori raised his eyebrow at that but didn't comment on it. Instead, he started checking on his vitals, scribbling down some notes while humming mundanely.

"Well, you're definitely here now," he answered slowly, looking up from his board. "You'll recover just fine with time, but you'll have to stay here for at least another week I'm afraid," Mori admitted regretfully. Before Dazai had the time to feel touched by the concern, the doctor added, "I really needed you for a mission in a couple of days."

Eying the tray with needles and tubes strewed out on the floor, he frowned deeply. "I will have to replace my equipment for the blood tests," he muttered tiredly and reached down to pick up the scattered pieces.

This wasn't the first time Dazai had been committed to the infirmary, far from it, and it wouldn't be his last. Mori had finished picking up his mess and took a step back to leave the room.

"Wait-" Dazai called out after him, but the door got slammed behind as Mori left him to himself.

Alone, within the bleak walls of his hospital room, it suddenly felt unsafe. The dim lighting added to its ominousness, making it feel cramped and confined, in spite of it being one of the larger rooms on the floor. His regular one, actually, with space for an extra bed for every time he was on suicide watch. It should be familiar by now, but suddenly it seemed completely foreign. As if he was a stranger in his own body. And he felt so, so lonely.

There was no color left in the world. The sky outside was gloomy and grey, the lights off, the bedspread was white, his bandages white and the walls white. The room was _so white._ _He couldn't take it._

As a growing sense of urgency rosed within his chest, his vision started to blur. The room was spinning and the walls closing in. He wanted to reach out and punch right through them. His heart had started to pound erratically, and the loose collar on his paper-thin hospital gown suddenly felt too tight. The adrenaline pumped in his veins as his stomach lurched, and he wanted to scream- not a cry of fear but a roar, breaking through his skin which also suddenly felt _too tight, _too hot and clammy.

It's silly- really. All that fear and panic does, is to remind him of his own mortality. Reminding him that he _can _die- _he could have died. Why the hell couldn't he just have died?_

Dazai wasn't sure why he did what he did next. It was a desperate attempt to simply do _something. Anything. _A shot in the dark for something specific to place his irrational feelings into.

With his left hand, he started to undress the bandages on his mutilated right. Slowly, it unraveled a mess of newly changed gauze, coated with a sick looking yellowy-green gush, as well as his heavily scarred lower arm, crisscrossed with old and new imprints.

Gritting his teeth, he pried off the stained cotton-pads to reveal the sickening mess of his stumped fingers.

Almost fascinated, his single seeing eye glared at the scarred mess of stitched skin and scabs, turning it around and scrutinizing them. The stumps were almost black as if burned- maybe they were, he couldn't remember clearly. He only remembered that it _ hurt. _

Looking around the room, he set his eyes on a vase with dead flowers that he hadn't managed to knock off the bedstand before. Without hesitating _ (he didn't have time- he might come to his senses), _he picked it up and slammed it towards the railing of his bed. It shattered with a loud crash, pieces flying across the room, landing all over the floor and in his bed. His palm was cut by the shards, but he ignored it in favor of locating the desired artery.

Starting at the creak of his elbow, he pushed the shard against his skin until he saw the trickling of scarlet starting to trail down his arm. Without flinching, he kept ripping his flesh apart, not stopping until he reached the bone and the gash traced below his wrist.

He could hear feet running towards his room. Footsteps rapidly approaching. But it didn't matter to him. The blood was gushing out from his incision fast, running down his arm and dying the bed around him bright red.

_ That was better. The lights were off, his bandages were red, his bedspread red, the walls, red. _

_ The room was black. _

"You idiot," a sharp voice sneered as darkness became light, shearing through his ears like a stack of cymbals crashing to the ground.

Blinking blearily, Dazai noticed a new bag on his IV stand. Apparently he had a blood transfusion.

"Ah~ Chuuya isn't supposed to be in my perfect suicide," Dazai whined softly, albeit halfheartedly. Moving his mangled arm, it felt stiff and painful. It was covered in thick, fresh bandages, and the palm of his left hand was wrapped in gauze too.

"Shut up, Mackerel! I didn't risk my ass saving you, only for you to come back and kill yourself," Chuuya barked angrily, glaring down at Dazai, who was buried in blankets and tucked tightly into the depths of the bed and peeked half-lidded back up at him.

Slowly, he tried to move his left arm to swat at his partner, already preparing a line about him being as annoying as a mosquito, not to mention the size of one. But the arm was yanked back, and shackles sounded loudly in the quiet room.

"W-wha…?" Dazai uttered, eye instantly growing wide at the feeling of being restrained.

"It's so you won't try anything stupid like that again," Chuuya explained matter-of-factly. "You also have to wear a leather glove, so you can't pull your bullshit joint-trick and squirm out of the cuff."

But Dazai wasn't listening. In a desperate tug, he tried to get the chain loose. It only resulted in another ear-shattering clatter, and Dazai visibly flinched at the sound and tried again more urgently.

"See? You can't pull out. Mori duck-taped it to your arm to make sure you couldn't wiggle your way out. Honestly, Dazai. You're basically a grown man- we shouldn't have to…"

Chuuya paused when the rattling of the chains didn't seize, and he finally noticed the look of pure terror on his partner's face as he pushed himself as far to the other side of the bed as physically possible, yanking his arm desperately, biting his lower lip roughly enough to draw blood.

"...Mackerel?" Chuuya asked, uncertainly. "H-hey, stop that, you're gonna pull your shoulder again..."

Dazai muttered something under his breath, his eye looking straight ahead at nothing. Chuuya had to lean down, close to his panicking partner's mouth to make out the words repeated on his lips.

_ "Stay- please stay please stay please stay please stay-" _his voice broke off but his lips kept moving, repeating the same few words again and again. Chuuya cowered back in surprise for a moment, before his eyes met the cuff that shackled Dazai to the bed.

"I- 'll stay, just…" Chuuya sighed, brushing his bangs off his face exasperatedly. "If I remove the cuff. Do you promise that you won't try anything dumb?"

Dazai didn't respond. A droplet of sweat trailed down his forehead, leaving a dark dot on his sheet as he kept pleading soundlessly.

Black-clad hands reached inside the inner pocket of Chuuya's expensive leather jacket, fishing out a small key and placed it in the lock around the emaciated wrist. As the latch clicked open, the arm was immediately pulled back and cradled against Dazai's chest. His lips kept moving wordlessly.

"What the hell did those bastards do to you?" Chuuya uttered, horrified.

* * *

He kept true to his words, staying by Dazai's side all through the night. Every time he tried to get up, a skinny and feeble hand would reach weakly at his shirt, his lips mouthing that one heartbreaking word, _ "Stay." _

The neediness and pitiful tone proved that the demon prodigy was nowhere in sight. All that was left was a frightened child that needed the safety and comfort of the few people he had left.

A pang of guilt that Chuuya had felt way too often lately struck him once again, reminding him who had done this to Dazai. _ It was them. _ This wasn't what was supposed to happen. A mission like that was nothing more than a routine, especially for the demon prodigy. It would be so easy to blame the captors. Blame it on them and their torture, but he couldn't. It was _ them _ and _ only them. Dazai's own people. _He had trusted them and they had broken that trust.

Dazai had waited and waited, and at one point, given up on being rescued, but at that point, he was too weak to help himself. He thought they'd abandoned him when in reality, it was just Mori's sick plot to establish dominance and show Dazai just how much power he held over his faith.

It was all just a _ fucking _show of power.

Chuuya seethed. All he wanted to do was to unleash Corruption on his boss' ass and break every insignificant bone in his body. He wanted to fling that blonde little brat out the window, wanted to crush Mori's skull with his bare hands, wanted to…

"Chuuya…?"

Chuuya was jerked back to reality. He shifted his attention from his murderous desires to his shattered partner, a clouded owlish eye blinking up at him in bewilderment.

"Hey," Chuuya answered hesitantly, unsure of what to do with his hands. He settled back on his uncomfortable plastic chair and leaned carefully over the bed.

"How long was I asleep?" Dazai asked, dazed, and stretched his now free arm across his blanket, pulling a faint grimace as the strain he had put on his barely healed shoulder when he tried to break out of the cuff, jolted through his arm.

"...asleep?" Chuuya uttered. Did Dazai not realize that he had been awake and inconsolable for hours?

Dazai hummed sleepily, rubbing his eye and yawned.

_ I have to speak to Mori about this immediately. _

* * *

With Dazai calm and having received a new dosage of strong painkillers, Chuuya made his way towards Mori's office. He hoped that the suicidal maniac would be subdued long enough for him to make it back in time before he woke back up.

Passing through the long hallway of the upper floor, he crossed a familiar-looking figure and halted his speedy gate.

"Hey," he turned around, calling out for the tall man. The weathered, low-ranked mafioso stopped, peeking back around.

"Sakunosuke Oda, right?"

The auburn-haired watched him intently, before nodding his head in confirmation. "Yes, call me Odasaku, please. And you are Nakahara Chuuya," he stated, blankly.

"Y-yeah, I just… I was wondering if you were going to see Dazai."

Oda's eyebrows knitted closely together, furrowing his forehead and making him look even more worn. "I haven't seen him in a while," Oda answered. His poker face was firm, but he couldn't shake the tinge of interest in his voice. "Is he okay?"

Chuuya didn't answer right away. He honestly didn't know how to. Was Dazai okay? No, not at all. Physically, he would be. At least he would be back on his feet, after a while _(the bastard always landed on his feet- and would likely break them both in the fall)_. But mentally, emotionally? He hadn't even been okay before.

"He's at the infirmary, has been for nearly five weeks," Chuuya finally answered.

"What happened?"

"H-he was kidnapped. Tortured, for over two weeks. He's pretty banged up."

"He must be if you're able to keep him in hospital for that long," Oda mused, almost humorously, seeming to be a little more at ease from the initial shock.

"Well," Chuuya trailed off, biting his lip. How was he going to tell Dazai's friend that they possibly had broken him? Beyond repair, this time. Oda stepped closer, waiting for the shorter man to continue, alarm rising gradually.

"I don't know what's happening to him," Chuuya admitted regretfully, assessing Oda's reaction, who was stone-faced as always. "But he seems scared. He's freaking out all the time and loses his memories after. And, he's terrified of being left alone."

For a second, Oda simply stared down at him. Grey eyes judging him from head to tow. Usually, Chuuya wouldn't cower in front of anyone, but somehow, knowing that he was the reason one of this man's_(no matter how low ranked)_ close friends was seriously hurt right now, he couldn't help but do just that.

"Which room is he in?" Oda finally asked.

"The usual one, do you know it?"

A curt nod and the tall man was off without another word. Chuuya looked at his back as he disappeared down the same hallway as he had come from, before remembering his purpose of having walked through it in the first place.

* * *

**To be continued**


	6. Chapter 6

**First of all! I'm sorry that I've been unable to pay this story as much attention as I should. With the whole whumptober (whumpapril) thingy, and especially the Elegy story) it became too many things to focus on. Also, Elegy morphed into something that was way too similar to my plans for this fic, albeit from an ADA pov, so now I kinda have to rethink it a little to make sure that the two stories don't turn out too similar. With that said, please enjoy this new chapter!**

**Oh, and I just learned that Mori means death in Latin. So, there's that.**

* * *

Chuuya's pace was fast and deliberate as he moved towards Mori's office. The closer he got, the fire inside his chest threatened to suffocate. What could he say? Did Mori even care if Dazai was in a bad way at all, or would he be happy that he was one step closer to getting the mindless puppet he was slowly molding Dazai into? Naturally, Dazai was way too stubborn and careless to lose his sense of self completely, but the fear that would strike him now left him utterly paralyzed. Mori would surely find a way to use it as a weapon against him.

Friendly fire was the worst.

Chuuya halted in front of the door with his fist raised to knock, but he didn't. Maybe... maybe he shouldn't talk to Mori about this after all. It would be impossible to hide the way Dazai had changed and Chuuya knew their boss had already seen it, but he was oblivious to the true extent of it. Sure, Mori deserved to have his ass handed to him two times over for what he had caused, but rationally, what good would it do? Chuuya had a feeling it would only make matters worse for both him and Dazai.

Turning on his heel, Chuuya walked away. He had to talk to Oda. No one in the Mafia knew Dazai the way he did- Chuuya wasn't stupid. The way Dazai could switch from cold and calculated to cheerful and relaxed in the older man's presence was something Chuuya never could get out of him. Not that Dazai wouldn't act cheerful around Chuuya too, but that was just it; an act. It was insincere. Dazai's face would be devoid of all expression the minute he thought no one was looking, and frankly, it was terrifying.

It seemed wrong to try and get Dazai to get back to that blank slate that he was now that he finally was capable of showing any kind of true feeling about something, no matter how bad those feelings were. But it might just be necessary to protect him from their boss.

At least, he wasn't alone in this. He knew Oda would do what he could to help, and maybe, if he promised to take some of her paperwork off of her, Kuoyou would be willing to help them too. Even if she put on the facade of being on Mori's side most of the time, Chuuya knew her in a different way. So, instead of his stop at Mori's, Chuuya changed direction and went to look for Kouyou at her chambers.

* * *

"Come in," Kouyou called in her melodic voice. Her kimono was loosely draped across her body as she laid lazily on her chaise longue reading a fashion magazine. The door opened, and Chuuya peeked inside.

"Ane-san, am I interrupting anything?"

The elegant woman shifted with an elongated sigh and tucked away her magazine. "No, but I have to get going in about twenty minutes for a meeting. I hope you don't mind if I get ready while we talk."

Chuuya rolled his eyes annoyed and let himself collapse into one of the soft, overstuffed chairs across the table from her, making sure to avert his gaze as she opened her silky tobe.

"I thought you were spending the day with Dazai," she said as she let the bright red floral patterned kimono slide off her shoulders and fall to a pile on the floor.

"Yeah, I was, but I needed to attend to some business," Chuuya muttered cryptically. "I met Oda Sakunosuke on the way, and sent him to keep him company while I was away."

The beautiful redhead hummed, now seated in front of a mirror while pinning up her hair. "How is he doing? I heard those thugs cut off his fingers."

Chuuya winched at the reminder while feeling uneasy about the monotony of her voice. They were all a bit desensitized to violence, but they were talking about someone they both had worked closely with for years. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to ask her for help after all?

"Chuuya?"

His head snapped up, meeting a concerned magenta gaze.

"Is he okay?" she inquired sternly. Chuuya bit his lip.

"Uh, not exactly," he drawled, scratching his head. "That's actually what I came to talk to you about."

Kouyou nodded. Her demeanor had visibly sobered.

"Well, spit it out, boy. I don't have much time," she urged, trying not to let the unease she was feeling inside show.

"He... he's not himself. He's," Chuuya though intently on how to phrase it. "...he's scared. I've never seen him scared before, Ane-san. And I'm worried that Mori-sama is going to use that terror to control Dazai. In the state Dazai is in now, it will ruin him."

Kouyou paused her grooming and looked at the younger mafioso through the mirror. "I see," she finally said, deep in thought. The silence between them drew out for a while. A thickness seemed to fill the air between them, made up of sorrow and concern. Kouyou was the one to interrupt the quiet.

"That is what Mori-sama has always wanted. He's always had an unhealthy obsession with that boy, and manipulation through fear is... is exactly how Dazai grew up. We all knew that something troubling was going on, but between Mori-sama and the old boss, there was nothing we could do about it. Eventually, Dazai persevered, but something must have triggered it when he was held captive."

Chuuya was at a loss for words at the revelation. He had never really thought about what Dazia's upbringing must have been like, what must have been done to him to make him into whatever the hell he was.

"Will you help him? Or, help me help him," Chuuya asked pleadingly. He watched intently as she pondered for a moment.

"I'm not sure how much I could do for him," she admitted sadly. "He's never been good at accepting help, even when he was younger."

"I know, but at least you were there. Whatever you guys did back then clearly helped him a little, since he started to do better, right?"

Kouyou had dressed in her nice pink kimono and had started tying it up. She smiled wistfully, shaking her head lightly. "We didn't do anything, Chuuya-kun. Nobody ever did," she sighed. "I've never been able to truly forgive myself for being so self-absorbed back then, but the reality is that Dazai-kun was all alone."

Quickly, Chuuya had gotten up from his chair and was now standing at her side, grabbing her small delicate hands in his gloves. "Please, Ane-san. Let's make sure that he knows he's not alone this time. I already fucked up when I left him to his torturers for so long. We have to make sure that he feels safe, and that he isn't left alone with Mori until he's more stable."

She looked at her student, long and hard. The cerulean eyes she had always been so weak for stared hopefully up at her, and she realized that she would have been the first to wage war on anyone in the Port Mafia, no matter who it might be if all of this had happened to her dear Nakahara.

"Okay," she said finally. "I will help you."

Chuuya released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

* * *

Sakunosuke Oda moved with long strides towards the room where his friend was laid up. His exterior always appeared calm but inside there was a storm brewing. Not many people knew Dazai, not really. A few people thought they knew him, even fewer knew a little. Nobody fully knew him, not even Oda. All though he probably knew him better than Dazai knew himself.

After spending countless nights at Lupin together, gradually peeling off layer upon layer, the bandaged executive slowly but surely let the facade fall a little at the time. Just hints and glimpses here and there, but enough for Oda to piece together a picture of a troubled, confused and terribly scared child. A child- a young man- that had no sense of his own value.

A boy who needed a break, truly. To someone to get him out of this cursed existence and into safety, teaching him how to be a kid, to live and love and how to be loved. Some day, Oda hoped to do that for him. But right now was too dangerous. If he took Dazai now, there was no way to ensure the safety of the orphans and they would never be able to rest because Mori would chase them to the end of the world to claim back what he deemed his.

As much as it pained Oda to leave Dazai in the callused fingers of the Mafia, this was simply not the time.

Oda paused in front of Dazai's usual room, where Chuuya had told him he would be. The always composed man wanted to brace himself for what would meet him on the other side. Visiting Dazai at the infirmary would normally occur once every few months, but the way Chuuya had looked and spoke about the current situation made Oda feel like this just might be that one fatal push that would drag Dazai so far down that even he could not reach him.

Taking one last steadying breath, he opened the door and moved inside, closing it quietly behind him. He stayed with his back turned for a good while, listening to the familiar beeping of a heart rate monitor and small shallow breaths. It felt bittersweet, yes, but it was also the sound of life, survival, and perseverance. Dazai had survived another day, another atrocity had been committed against him, but he was still here, no matter what he had done to keep that from happening in the past.

Eventually, Oda turned to truly take in the situation. Initially, seeing Dazai beat to shit and bandaged up was not that uncommon but he still frowned knowingly when he noticed the thick bandage covering his arm from above the elbow to the wrist. He had dressed the kid in bandages the exact same way several times. The only thing that strayed from Oda's own work was that the dressing covered the entirety of his hand as well, likely from a different kind of injury.

Walking closer, Oda spotted the handcuffs still shackled to the railings of the bed, covered in residue ducktape. Beneath, a leather glove had fallen to the floor. Peeking out from under the mattress laid the straps, luckily unbuckled for the time being.

A wave of fury flushed over Oda as he took in the sight of his unconscious friend and all of the restraints that had been put in place to confine him. How in the world could that be necessary? Mori of all people should know how claustrophobic Dazai was- but then again…

Oda sighed wistfully. When was this endless nightmare going to end? Did Dazai really not understand that he was being methodically tortured in the place he was supposed to be safe? The place he was supposed to call home?

Of course, he didn't. An abused dog that had never known freedom did not fight to obtain it. It would continue to mindlessly follow the hand that fed it. Oda didn't want to have this bitterness in his heart. After all, technically, Mori and the Port Mafia were the hand that fed him and his loved ones too, and he was grateful for that. But watching Dazai, the executive, the child in such a poor state in front of him made it hard. Oda was angry and mournful for his friend.

Dazai stirred slightly. Frail fingers grasping for purchase- anything to catch him. An almost soundless whine left his lips as his hand kept feeling around on the sheets, searching for reassurance, for safety.

'He's terrified of being alone,' echoed inside Oda's mind and he rushed to Dazai's bedside to catch the younger's hand carefully in his own larger ones.

"That's okay, buddy. It's me, Odasaku," Oda strummed calmingly. Dazai hummed in response, the downturned creases of his mouth slowly curving up in a pleasant smile. His eyes kept close, too heavy to move.

"Odasaku…" Dazai repeated weakly. Again, Oda felt himself grimace. He had never heard Dazai's voice so small, so fragile. It didn't feel right.

"Yeah, Nakahara-san needed to rest a little, so he sent me to look after you for a while. I hope that's okay." Honestly, Oda didn't know where the redhead was heading when they met, but the short mafioso looked like he needed an hour or eight of sleep.

Dazai nodded almost unnoticeable. "...'s fine, Odasaku's here," he smiled tiredly, cuddling up to the hand that had reached for his (Odasaku's hand, safe, good, soft, safe safe safe). The older mafioso shifted slightly in his grip to cradle the side of Dazai's head, knots of hair tangled between warm, comforting fingers.

"I'll stay for a while, then. You can go back to sleep. I'll keep you safe." Oda felt his hand being tugged a little closer, hand wrapping around his a little tighter. Dazai breathed a delicate sigh.

"Thank you Odasaku."

It didn't take long for Dazai's breathing to even out, tingling against Oda's palm. The disheveled man's back was getting weary from his crouched position over the bed but he would stay like that for as long as his friend needed him.


End file.
